


Crimson

by FoxNonny



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, M/M, also not that universe, angst bUT NOT AS BAD AS YOU'LL REMEMBER ME I SWEAR, kind of, spoilers for inquisition sort of not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxNonny/pseuds/FoxNonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It always starts the same way - there is Hawke, and there is Fenris, and it's a calm, clear morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a short thing I wrote for my Tumblr and I was like hey why not drop it here. Also taking this moment to go holy sweet Lord guys your response to You'll Remember Me actually made me cry. More than once. I love you all. 
> 
> Basically, this fic is "What if Hawke was a giant neurotic mess about the red lyrium shit and that's part of why he left Fenris behind and everything is dumb." Yup.

Their travels have taken them from one end of the Free Marches to the other, and for a while, south to Ferelden. So many years away, it hardly feels like home to Hawke anymore, but it’s familiar. They might have stayed there longer, but there was the letter from Varric to consider, a letter that Hawke hasn’t shown Fenris.

_I’d get Broody out of here if I were you. That red shit we found in the Deep Roads? It’s spreading. I know he wasn’t affected before but we’ve been finding veins of it down here. Besides, this start-up Inquisition is headed by that Seeker who’s been looking for you. You don’t wanna get stuck here._

The next day Hawke expresses a casual desire for warmer climates, and while Fenris seems a bit bemused by it, he does not question. They double back up to the coast to catch the first ship Hawke can arrange out of Ferelden.

It’s while they’re on the docks that Hawke sees it, a glimpse into his nightmares.

The templar is wearing a hooded cloak, skin and face shielded from the sun, but a stumble over an errant foot on the crowded thoroughfare puts Hawke directly in sight of what lay beneath.

A flash of crimson eyes, bright scarlet crackling through ruined flesh.

Hawke throws his hand back to push Fenris away, who loses his balance and nearly tumbles headfirst into a stand of freshly-caught fish. He is not amused by this. Hawke bears his complaints and demands to know what madness overtook him as he watches the templar go, relaxing only slightly when the man is far enough away from them.

Away from Fenris.

“Anything you want to tell me?” Fenris asks later; warm, bare skin draped over Hawke’s chest, tucked close in his arms. The ship cabin is cramped, and pricey, but worth it for the privacy it can afford them both. “You seem on edge.”

Hawke can’t lie to Fenris. But he can’t voice his fears just yet.

“Let’s just say I’ve more mixed feelings about Ferelden than I thought,” Hawke says, pulling Fenris a little closer and leaning to kiss his hair.

“I imagine going back to your home country must have been difficult, given your history,” Fenris says slowly - acknowledging that Hawke has spoken truly, but also making it plain that he knows it was a truth draped over omission.

“Like I said,” Hawke says, forcing a cavalier tone that he knows Fenris will never take at face value. “I’m in a mood for a warmer climate.”

-

_Hawke,_

_Spoke to Bianca - yes, Bianca, shut up. Something weird about the red lyrium - apparently it’s lyrium that’s caught the Blight? Which indicates some crazy shit about lyrium being alive but I’m not going to think too hard on that. You and Broody better stay as north as you can get for the time being, things are going batshit here._

_Varric_

_-_

It always starts the same way. There is Hawke, and there is Fenris, and it’s a calm, clear morning.

They’re walking down a forest path together, sensitive to the sounds around them but not anxious, alert but not on guard. Hawke tells Fenris more about Lothering, about his childhood, and Fenris listens in that quiet way of his, interjecting only with a dry comment or to laugh at Hawke’s youthful misadventures.

Hawke’s back is always to him when he first chokes, so he never sees it. Never has any warning.

He turns to see Fenris fall to his knees, eyes wide, stripping off his gauntlets to reveal crimson, bright crimson, leaking through his lyrium markings like blood in water.

(Hawke has seen what people look like when they’ve caught the Blight. He’s seen their horror, and their agony, and he sees it all in Fenris’s face when he realizes that he’s doomed.)

Hawke races over to him, but Fenris holds up a hand (glowing bright, red, _wrong_ ), clearly frightened but not wanting Hawke near him. “ _You’ll catch it too.”_

Hawke watches as the infection spreads, scarlet crystals bursting through Fenris’s skin, those emerald eyes blinking, blinking again, and then shining crimson, all trace of green erased.

“ _It’s not killing me,_ ” Fenris says, dull pain and defeated acceptance in his voice. “ _It’s changing me_.”

And it is - Fenris is slowly consumed, devoured before Hawke’s eyes, warping and spasming into something unrecognizable, monstrous.

“ _Kill me_ ,” Fenris begs, just before the last of him is changed and the beast he’s become springs up, leaping at Hawke, ready to-

And then Hawke wakes up.

In the month since receiving that letter from Varric, the dreams have become more frequent, causing him to wake with a gasp, sweating and heart pounding.

Fenris used to wake with him, usually because he’d be using Hawke’s chest as a pillow and one cannot stay asleep when they’re physically jolted awake. Now, however, Fenris sleeps with a solid foot of space between himself and Hawke.

Because Hawke won’t tell him what the nightmares are about, and Fenris is hurt, and the way he reacts if Hawke hurts him is with anger. Distance. And Hawke can’t blame him, not really. When so much of their relationship is based on mutual trust, there’s very little room for secrets such as this.

Hawke wakes up from these dreams, though, and he _needs._ Needs Fenris in his arms, needs to feel him safe, close, breathing.

So they start the night a foot apart, but Hawke reaches for Fenris - never pushing, never crowding, and he hopes.

Some nights Fenris is truly fast asleep, and does not notice. Other nights, he sighs, and rolls over into Hawke’s arms, and they hold each other close until sleep finds them again.

-

_Hawke,_

_I hate to ask this. Maker knows you don’t need any of this shit on your plate, after everything. But things have gotten worse. Our old friend Corypheus is back, and pissier than ever. I hate to say it, but the Inquisition needs you. Champion of Kirkwall. All the templars are infected with that red stuff now, you’ve probably heard. Good luck trying to get him to stay behind, but… I don’t think it’s safe for a certain glowy elf…_

-

Hawke wakes with a gasp.

Fenris is close tonight, forehead pressed against Hawke’s shoulder, and he rouses softly, still half-asleep. “Hawke…?”

“I need,” Hawke says, swallowing. “I need to check your markings. With magic. Please.”

Fenris lifts his head, eyes half-lidded and heavy, but he’s aware enough to give Hawke a long, searching look before he nods.

Hawke takes Fenris’s hand in his own, letting his magic slip into the lyrium, markings glowing as the energy traces a path over Fenris’s body. Fenris shivers with the sensation, gripping Hawke’s shoulder with his free hand. He’s said Hawke’s magic doesn’t hurt him - in fact, he’s told Hawke that it feels nice, and they’ve used that to their advantage in the bedroom - but still Hawke fights the urge to apologize as Fenris shudders and his hold on Hawke tightens, clearly affected.

Hawke concentrates and listens, feels for anything out of place, a wrong note in the lyrium’s song, and there’s nothing. _It’s fine. Fenris is safe._

He stops the flow of magic and Fenris goes limp for a moment, breath leaving him in a long, shaking sigh. Hawke wraps his arms around Fenris and just holds him, secure in his knowledge that Fenris is _safe. He’s safe._

“Are you alright, Garrett?” Fenris murmurs eventually, something genuine and concerned in his voice.

Hawke shakes his head. “No, not really.”

Fenris shifts up so he can put his arm around Hawke’s shoulders, reach up with those long, slender fingers and card them gently through Hawke’s hair. Hawke closes his eyes at the touch, the tenderness of it helping a little to smooth the night terrors away.

“What do you need?” Fenris asks softly.

“I need…” Hawke swallows. “I need to make a decision, I think. Only it feels as though I have no choice.”

Fenris’s hand stills, and when Hawke opens his eyes, Fenris is staring at him like he _knows._

“There’s always a choice,” Fenris says. “You told me that. You showed me what that meant.”

“Well, I wasn’t wrong because I’m clearly never wrong,” Hawke says, drawing a short derisive laugh from Fenris. “But sometimes all the choices are bad ones.”

Fenris frowns. “Hawke, you’re…”

“ _Scaring me_ ,” is how Fenris might have finished that sentence, but he closes his mouth instead, letting his eyes speak for him.

Hawke kisses Fenris, gently, and pulls back enough to say, “I have to leave tomorrow, and… I need you to stay here.”

“No,” Fenris says shortly.

“I’m sorry love, but you can’t come with me. I’m asking you not to.”

Fenris pushes Hawke back, sitting up, eyes blazing. _Hurt becomes anger, always, because Fenris has spent his life having to defend himself from hurt._

“I am saying _no_ ,” Fenris says, his voice a low growl. “Is this about those dreams? _What aren’t you telling me?_ ”

“I have to go to Ferelden, to the south,” Hawke says, fighting to keep his voice level as he sits up to meet Fenris’s rage head-on. “And you _cannot_ come with me.”

“ _Why?”_

“You-” Hawke scrubs a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. “Your markings, Fenris. The lyrium in the south is wrong, it’s infected, and it’s spreading. It’s Blighted. And in all my nightmares, it infects _you._ ”

Fenris stares, at a loss for words.

Then, he says, “ _Venhedis,_ you- I’ve been around red lyrium before, Hawke. Have you happened to notice that I still stand unaffected?”

“That was a small sample, and you never touched it,” Hawke says. “We’d be fighting legions of infected templars, apparently the shit’s growing all over the place, they’re _mining_ it for fuck’s sake-”

“If it is another form of the Blight- anyone can get the Blight, it’s no different-”

“ _It is_ ,” Hawke says, taking Fenris by the shoulders, trying to make him _understand._ “It just _is,_ love. And I’ve had to watch you be consumed by it again, and again, and I can’t- Maker, Fenris, I cannot lose you. Not like that. Not like anything.”

Fenris’s eyes search Hawke’s, and there’s still that anger there, that hurt, but Hawke can see he’s trying. Trying to come to Hawke’s conclusion.

“ _Festis bei umo carnavarum_ ,” he hisses eventually, looking away. “Then we stay away from the south, you and me _both._ It’s hardly a safe place for anyone right now.”

Hawke hangs his head, gripping Fenris’s shoulders tightly. “I’ve been called to serve the Inquisition.”

Fenris stiffens. “Varric?”

“He had-” Hawke is about to say “ _no choice_ ,” but he knows the argument will hardly hold sway with Fenris. “He didn’t want to. It’s Corypheus, Fenris. I thought we’d killed him, but he’s returned. It’s my responsibility-”

_“Our_ responsibility,” Fenris snaps. “I was there too, Hawke. I ran my sword through that monstrosity’s chest and thought the deed done. If you feel it is your duty to go to them, I will not stop you. But I will not stay behind.”

_“Damn it,_ Fenris,” Hawke says, frustration hardening his words. “I will not let you kill yourself for my sake.”

“And I will not let you kill yourself for the fucking Inquisition’s sake,” Fenris snarls. “I _will not._ Either I go with you, or we do not go. They cannot have you. They cannot have your life. _Kaffas,_ Hawke, you’ve done enough.”

Hawke wants to shake him. He wants to hold Fenris close and never let go.

He knows what he has to do, and it’s something he’s never been able to do. And now, Fenris’s life depends on it.

“Alright,” Hawke says, pulling Fenris into his arms, kissing the tip of a single, pointed ear. “I’m sorry. I… I’ll need to think about it.”

“You won’t leave me behind?” Fenris asks, tense in Hawke’s embrace.

“I won’t,” Hawke lies.

-

Two nights later Hawke finds them an inn in a better part of a different town - not so nice that Fenris might be suspicious, but certainly better than some hovels they’ve stayed in. They have a proper dinner with wine and good company, coin changing hands once or twice as they win and lose at cards in the common area before retiring to their room.

Hawke traces the map of Fenris’s body with his lips that night, slowly, savouring every moment, every soft gasp and moan as he wraps himself in Fenris, loses himself in his lover’s arms. When he finally buries himself in the soft heat of Fenris’s body, he moves slowly, not wanting the night to end, knowing what the morning will bring. He holds Fenris close and they fall apart together, into each other, and it hurts him as much as it makes him whole.

Fenris is warm, and relaxed, curling easily into Hawke’s embrace, and it could be any other night. Hawke is counting on this.

“I love you,” he murmurs, brushing the words against Fenris’s lips.

Fenris smiles against Hawke’s mouth, and whispers back, “You’re an idiot, and I’m yours.”

Which is pretty much the same thing.

Fenris falls asleep, and Hawke’s heart plummets.

The first betrayal, the hardest, is lifting his hand to brush the hair from Fenris’s eyes, magic gathered in his palm. Easy magic, barely anything. Just something to keep Fenris asleep past sunrise. _But still_.

“Forgive me,” Hawke says, and casts his spell.

He rises and dresses, packs quickly, casts another spell to ward the door so no one can enter until Fenris wakes. And then, he sits with a piece of parchment in hand, watching as Fenris sleeps soundly in their bed.

Once the letter is finished, Hawke leaves it on the bedside table, easily visible. Then, unable to help himself, he leans over to kiss Fenris’s half-parted lips.

-

_Fenris,_

_I have broken your trust. I lied when I said I would take you with me. I used magic on you, without your permission, to keep you asleep so I could make my getaway. By the time you read this, I will be far away and long gone. Everything is settled up with the innkeeper - I suggest you continue north, find somewhere safe to wait until this war is at an end._

_Do not come after me.  
_

_Hawke_

-

Months later, many months, and many hard journeys that have leeched Hawke’s spirit with harder victories scarcely won, Hawke travels to Weisshaupt to continue his work with the Wardens. No time to rest, no time to breathe, and Hawke is sure he doesn’t deserve it even if that time were there.

He’s in Weisshaupt for a day, maybe two, when there’s a hard knock on his door, startling him from his thoughts.

“Maker, man, are you trying to break the door down?” Hawke grouses, crossing the room to pull the door open.

He’s greeted abruptly by a fist to his face.

Later one of the nearby Wardens will admit that she thought about intervening, but quailed a little at the sight of a clearly angry, glowing, hollering half-ghost of an elf beating the Champion bloody in his own quarters. Hawke, with a broken nose and a black eye, can’t help but understand.

But before that, there is Fenris, months of hurt and fear in his fists and his voice as he snarls his outrage, and all Hawke can see is crimson.

All he can see is crimson, but when Fenris finally collapses in his arms, all that anger finally giving way to grief and confusion, relief and love and betrayal, when Hawke pulls Fenris close for the first time in far too long and feels those thrice-cursed markings pressed against his skin, there’s not a single wrong note in the lyrium’s song.

**Author's Note:**

> A slight disclaimer: I definitely don't think beating the shit out of your partner is an okay relationship thing to do. It's not romantic, even if said partner is an idiot with good intentions but shitty followthrough on said intentions. There that's my PSA I hope you enjoyed the fic.


End file.
